


Trials 1:14

by smithy_of_words



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Aisa Lavellan, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-07
Updated: 2015-10-07
Packaged: 2018-04-25 06:11:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4949713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smithy_of_words/pseuds/smithy_of_words
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Inquisitor almost falls in battle and Sera reflects.<br/>Short (and sad at first) but sweet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trials 1:14

It was always wet, Sera recalled.

There was mud, or a creek that had overflowed its banks, (“What do you mean you can’t swim? You’re an adult, aren’t you? Or did your clan never see open water?”) or a swamp with demons, monsters, and dead people walking (“Arseshitfuck!”).

Even the blood was wet—especially the blood.

It usually didn’t belong to any of them, mostly the others—scared kids with helmets too big, angry men and women with red crusted faces, like pulsing rubies in their veins, or Tevinter zealots with books and too much self-righteousness; all of them never expected to die, she didn’t think, but die they did, and it was always wet.

Open throats, gurgling noises, arrows to the face, sometimes screams. Was it rage, sorrow, surprise? She could never tell—just noise.

But it was silent when it was her.

She was sure that there were things going on, yelling, and slashing, and explosions of fire and lightning, but she didn’t hear them.

Just saw: open mouth, wide-eyes, stumbling feet, and a tangle of limbs, and Sera didn’t see anymore—couldn’t.

Unbidden, as though rage had turned her blood to fire, she howled like something savage and tainted by the torn sky.  
  
_Not her._  
  
  
A slash to the throat.  
  
_Not her._  
  
  
Breaking bones.  
  
_Not her!_  
  
  
Blurry eyes, salty tears, snot, and blood—them and hers.

And there were hands on her shoulder, Vivienne?, Cassandra?, it didn’t matter—nothing mattered anymore, because _it did_ and she was gone.  
Crawling on her hands and knees, keening, muttering, dark hands, and light…blue light.  
_  
Maker, let her be all right. You complete bastard._

\--

Sera awoke with a start, not in the meadows and fields of the Dales, but in a room in Skyhold— _her_ room.

(She’d have recognized that shitty gilded bed anywhere.)

She sat up, wincing as pain shot through her back, nerves pinched from hours of sleeping in a strange position, hunched over in a chair.  
Her eyes landed on the form in the bed before her—simple cotton tunic, messy dark hair, elfy marks, and chest, softly rising and falling beneath silken sheets.  
It wasn’t silent, but rather soft, like a small sigh. 

Noise—that was something, at least.

Sera exhaled as though she’d been holding her breath for years, all pent up worry released in a wobbly breath.  
Aisa Lavellan was alive.

Shit. That meant she’d have to thank Vivienne later...and maybe the Maker.

That could wait until later though, after the Inquisitor was awake.

Honeytongue.

**Author's Note:**

> "Though all before me is shadow,  
> Yet shall the Maker be my guide.  
> I shall not be left to wander the drifting roads of the Beyond.  
> For there is no darkness in the Maker's Light  
> And nothing that He has wrought shall be lost.
> 
> -Trials 1:14"


End file.
